Vitae Reginae
by Leuny
Summary: Four shots, that was all it took. Based on a real-life event, this is something that I had to deal with personally. I put the rating on M, to be on the safe side. Contains violence, Character death.
1. Vita Reginae

**Vita Reginae**

**Disclaimer**: Nothing belonging to me – not even much of the plot bunny. I have mangled it and changed it beyond recognition, but I can't wholeheartedly say that even the action belongs to me.

**AN:** _Dear reader_,

This is something that I have had to deal with for quite some time – and only now managed to finish. It is somewhat of a violent, sad story that I based on something that happened for _real_ to me, just this year.

This can be seen as a sort-of maybe kinda prequel to _Tea, Anyone?_, but it can also be a stand-alone oneshot, as I originally intended it to be. The sorta-maybe-kind-of prequel can be read in the next chapter (which is simply the same story, but with an extra at the end)

My life has had a lot of things to offer that I definitely would rather have done without this year, so I implore you, dear readers, to take everything in stride and play the waiting game for my other fanfictions for a little bit longer. I shall continue writing as per usual, though I still can't put out any real dates for when I'll update my fanfictions, excepting _We Are Golden_. I shall do my very best to meet that deadline!

Have fun!

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She'd been preparing for Christmas, that was what she'd been doing. She remembered now. That was all she'd been doing at the time. Nothing more, nothing less. She'd been baking cookies with her mother. Oh, her dear, old mother! She hadn't known the old woman would come over for a chat and helping with the Christmas preparation at all until the old woman had stood on her front porch, ringing the doorbell. This particular tradition was something she'd taken from the French. France, after all, had been the country where she'd met her dear husband, may he rest in peace.

Fondly, she remembered a time where everything was perfect. Where she was content and her husband beyond elated at the news that she'd be expecting. A son, moreover. Back then they'd been doing something extravagant all week around that special date in memory of when - and also where - they'd met. Be it that they only went to French restaurants all week long and ordered something different to eat everyday, or that they'd dress different, more like the French: extraordinarily elegant. Not, that her dear husband didn't do so every day, anyways. Those times would be _special_.

But when her son had come around; or, rather their _sun_; lighting up every single aspect of their lives. Everything had had to change. It was a necessity if one wanted to keep up with a baby and soon-to-be rambunctious and lively growing child. She didn't regret any of that change. Nor did her husband. But those... extravagant dates... had to go. Instead, they'd both searched for a better solution to their problem; they honestly did want to commemorate their very first meeting. So what to do?

The two of them had thought about it a lot and discussed it with each other a great many times, but nothing seemed to stand up to their criteria of implementation. So she'd been beyond happy when one day her husband enthusiastically presented her with a picture-perfect solution. When they couldn't celebrate their first date(s) as a couple, why not celebrate them as a family?

Their son would soon be born and he had a right to celebrate the meeting day of his parents, he'd told her with a conviction that she'd felt, as well. They were already very excited to finally meet their son when he'd be born. Where they'd focused on their life as a couple before, now they'd put the focus more towards the family, he'd said. All she could do was nod in agreement. It was _the_ solution to their problem!

That was why, when the doorbell rang, she'd been standing in the kitchen on the ground floor and been busy chatting with her mother. "... and then you have to get them out of the fridge and put them out into the garden immediately. Wouldn't want them to melt now, would we? - Oh! It seems someone's at the door. Don't worry, go on ahead, I'll keep an eye on our precious treasures!", her mother said with a wink to her.

Both of them already suspected that it was her wayward son coming home from a long day at school. Teenagers nowadays! Really, sometimes she reckoned it was easier to keep tabs on a flea circus than her son! Had he forgotten his keys, again? Why didn't he go in through his room's window, in that case? He'd done that once before, she could remember. And she'd hear her son shouting through the wooden front door already, she knew. So was it someone else, then? Who could it be?

She thought about this a little while going out into the hallway that connected the kitchen with the entryway. Five steps more and she'd already arrived at the door. The spy hole was nigh useless nowadays, what with the days getting dark sooner rather than later in the evening. It was five o'clock and yet the sun had already gone down and it was, for all intents and purposes, in the middle of the night already, if one went by what was visible outside.

The close-by street lamp still hadn't been repaired yet, too. Those, coupled with the fact that whoever rang the doorbell at five o'clock on a Saturday afternoon just before Christmas probably wouldn't mean any of the house inhabitants any harm gave her a calm that she wouldn't have felt right then, had she known just what was in store for her that fateful evening.

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Next she knew, she was on the first floor, hiding together with her mother in her son's room and praying that the older woman would find anything that might hold the attacker off. But looking back at her mother, that hope was dwindling, seeing as helplessness spread all over the older woman's being and body. She was no help, no help at all. However, if she'd let go of that door now, their attacker would surely seize the chance and – at most – fire wildly into the room; at least, her opponent would enter the room, making it all that more difficult to escape any bullets.

She hadn't counted on her son making an appearance, though, nor had she counted on the circumstances being so much against her. As it was, Kaito had decided to climb into his room this day, having her body go into shock for one crucial millisecond. As it turned out, that was all that was needed for their attacker to take the opportunity presented and wrench the door open.

So it was with great shock and alarm that she was left staring up the gun that was pointed at her. Hearing it go off happened in slow motion. First, she'd seen the expression _kill-you-sorry-can't-be-helped_, then her attacker had changed it; that second expression was by far more alarming than the first one had been, though. Her brain registered its meaning, took it apart and made her open her mouth to - shout, scream, do what? - but by then the gun had already gone off and next she felt was pain.

Excruciating pain spread from her head towards the rest of her body. It was unbearable. At the same time, she felt the adrenaline numb her senses so much so that the pain she'd felt at first was extremely dulled. It could have happened to another person entirely, she'd have felt just the same amount of pain. Shock spread all over her body, making her extremities go stiff on her.

She couldn't move anything anymore. She couldn't do much more than sink to her knees; couldn't control her body any more. Her eyes were stuck in their position, her arms and legs felt heavy, like they'd turned into lead without her looking. The last thing she saw was her opponent pointing the gun towards her own head. With the bang that followed she let the welcoming, beckoning darkness embrace her.

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There was that certain sense of surrealism, danger and alarm that he'd felt at the sight that greeted him upon entering his room. He hadn't had a chance to see if there was anybody else in the house, other than the people that he'd already expected to be there. It had been a surprise to see them both standing and crouching in his room; his grandmother had been going through his things – whatever for? – and his mother was perched against the door. He hadn't expected them to be there, of all places. He'd thought they were engaged in the kitchen, busy cookie-baking and dough-whirling.

He hadn't known they'd gone to his room. He hadn't known that there had been another person chasing them up. The first room he'd entered, after all, had been his room. Then again, Kaito couldn't shake the feeling that God was playing a joke on him. This… this couldn't be his mother lying there, could it? And that person, over there, right in front of the door…? He'd seen her. He knew he'd seen her somewhere before.

It didn't matter.

That… that body. His mother.

Four shots had rung out in the house. Four shots that he hadn't even seen coming. For, when his mother had glimpsed him at the window and opened her eyes wide, those precious few moments had been all that had been needed for her attacker to open the door; his mother had fallen to the floor at first, but then she'd righted herself and crouched, once more, on the tips of her feet. Then the gun that had been pointed at her the entire time had gone off. It had been deafening.

Four times it had gone off.

Then everything went still. He glanced towards his grandmother, afraid that if he took his gaze off her form, his mother would disappear. He didn't want to. Kaito didn't want to. So he needed someone else to. To pretend to be in control. To pretend everything would be ok. To pretend…

Gulping, he directed his eyes once more towards his mother's prone form on the floor. It couldn't be…

This was his mother they were talking about! She couldn't have just been killed – right in front of his eyes, moreover! No... No. _No_.

"Call. Call the ambulance." His grandmother seemingly got herself back under control. Uncomprehendingly, he looked at her again; his gaze farther away than either of them could touch. "The – Ambulance. Now." Her words appeared to leave her mouth on their own accord. She looked almost unbelieving at what they said. "And the police." He didn't respond.

"Kaito!"

That one word, his name, spoken in a voice so like that of his mother was what shook him awake once more. He whipped out his mobile and dialled their neighbour's private number (_OnlytobeUsedinanEmergency!_). He was, after all, a police inspector. Kaito swore he'd never been as relieved as right then that a police officer had picked up his phone call.

"If this is about you breaking into the girls' bathroom at school, I swear you'll-"

"My mum!" Forcefully he'd cut the inspector off. His self-proclaimed uncle had the tendency to go off on a roll before letting anybody else insert their comments. Yet, having said those two words, he didn't know exactly how to go on. So he stuck to something that was known to him. Take a deep breath and calm down. Then tell the person on the other end of the line just what happened. Or, well, what the situation is like now would help a great deal, too.

"She's – dead." The word left a bitter taste on his tongue. "It was a clean head-shot, along with another one to her head and one to her chest. Four gunshots in total." The other end of the line was quiet for a moment, then

"Back up. Where are you, what happened and who's injured?"

His breathing was the only thing being transmitted until he'd composed himself, once more. His grandmother in the meanwhile was kneeling down at his mother's side, staring at her unbelievingly.

"I'm at home. We're at home. My grandmother and I, that is. My mum," a lump lodged in his throat made it hard for him to speak for a few more moments, "she's dead."

"An attacker came into the house, apparently. They…" he trailed off, looking at his grandmother, to see if she was in any condition to answer the phone call herself. Taking in her haggard appearance he deemed that she wasn't, not at that moment, at least. "fought." He couldn't see his mother go down without any kind of fight. The evidence for that could probably be found in the kitchen. "It seems the attacker chased them up to my room. There, she killed mum, before killing herself."

The other end of the line was still, again. So much so, that he almost suspected the line of having been cut prematurely. Nevertheless, it hadn't been and the inspector's voice came through once more soon enough.

"Look. I'm in the area already. Be there in five." With that, the older man cut the line.

He'd gone up and down in front of his bed all the while that he'd stayed on the phone. Now that the line was dead, he didn't know what to do with himself any more. Oh, he knew the procedure following a murder. How could he not, having trailed after Hakuba many times more than his classmate knew of? It was just… this was no ordinary murder, was it? Not, when it concerned him and his family.

Chancing another look at his grandmother's drawn face, he conceded that, well, not when it concerned a certain half of the family, at least. His grandmother certainly never had been subjected to any of their concerns, had she? His grandfather had kept her in the dark about most anything that went on. Even now, his mother had kept up the appearance of them being a "normal family", not yet having the heart to break the illusion. Nevertheless, she'd at least told her son that she'd try to do it, lest it break her own heart. She simply hadn't managed to do so, yet.

His grandmother was as normal as they came, fortunately for her. Their relationship was… complicated, to say the least.

And then there was that woman that attacked them. What would become of her? He ambled closer, slowly. Curious. He realized that he _did_ know her. Wasn't she…?

The front door opening violently ripped him out of his musings. For one eternal moment he had the vision of them being under attack, _again_. Then the inspectors voice bellowed out, shouting something indiscernible.

"We're here – upstairs!" His own voice came out louder than he'd wanted it to at first. His grandmother had flinched at the sudden loudness, he'd noticed out of the corner of his eye. Yet he knew that he wouldn't be able to speak much more for some time to come. Shock, and the ends of grief pulled his shoulders down along with his eyes. They pivoted back towards his mother's body. He went to stand by his grandmother, kneeling down, as well. At his mother's side, he lay a hand on her body. The way that she lay there was unnatural. Her knees bent, she lay on her backside, with her feet underneath her. His hand rested on her left shoulder. Her eyes were staring up at the ceiling, unseeing, blank. Kaito didn't think he'd ever seen anything this scary before.

When the inspector came up and the bodies were tended to, his grandmother and he were accompanied downstairs. On the way, he more felt than saw the blond detective pass him by in a hurry. In front of his house, Aoko was already waiting for him. And that was when he noticed all the police cars with the blue lights flickering this and that way. Even more were arriving at the scene, sirens blazing.

Funny, he hadn't heard any sirens at all until then.

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_**Thank you very much for reading!**_


	2. U174 R391N43

**Vita Reginae**

**Disclaimer**: Nothing belonging to me – not even much of the plot bunny. I have mangled it and changed it beyond recognition, but that's all I did.

**AN:** _Dear reader_,

This is based on a real event that happened to me this year – and the story of which I only now managed to finish. It is somewhat of a violent, sad story.

This can be seen as a sort-of maybe kinda prequel to _Tea, Anyone?_, but it can also be a stand-alone oneshot, as I originally intended it to be. The sorta-maybe-kind-of prequel can be read here: it is for the most part simply the same story, but with an extra at the end. So, if you don't want to think of eit as a sorta-maybe-kind-of prequel, then do not read on.

Have fun!

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She'd been preparing for Christmas, that was what she'd been doing. She remembered now. That was all she'd been doing at the time. Nothing more, nothing less. She'd been baking cookies with her mother. Oh, her dear, old mother! She hadn't known the old woman would come over for a chat and helping with the Christmas preparation at all until the old woman had stood on her front porch, ringing the doorbell. This particular tradition was something she'd taken from the French. France, after all, had been the country where she'd met her dear husband, may he rest in peace.

Fondly, she remembered a time where everything was perfect. Where she was content and her husband beyond elated at the news that she'd be expecting. A son, moreover. Back then they'd been doing something extravagant all week around that special date in memory of when - and also where - they'd met. Be it that they only went to French restaurants all week long and ordered something different to eat everyday, or that they'd dress different, more like the French: extraordinarily elegant. Not, that her dear husband didn't do so every day, anyways. Those times would be _special_.

But when her son had come around; or, rather their _sun_; lighting up every single aspect of their lives. Everything had had to change. It was a necessity if one wanted to keep up with a baby and soon-to-be rambunctious and lively growing child. She didn't regret any of that change. Nor did her husband. But those... extravagant dates... had to go. Instead, they'd both searched for a better solution to their problem; they honestly did want to commemorate their very first meeting. So what to do?

The two of them had thought about it a lot and discussed it with each other a great many times, but nothing seemed to stand up to their criteria of implementation. So she'd been beyond happy when one day her husband enthusiastically presented her with a picture-perfect solution. When they couldn't celebrate their first date(s) as a couple, why not celebrate them as a family?

Their son would soon be born and he had a right to celebrate the meeting day of his parents, he'd told her with a conviction that she'd felt, as well. They were already very excited to finally meet their son when he'd be born. Where they'd focused on their life as a couple before, now they'd put the focus more towards the family, he'd said. All she could do was nod in agreement. It was _the_ solution to their problem!

That was why, when the doorbell rang, she'd been standing in the kitchen on the ground floor and been busy chatting with her mother. "... and then you have to get them out of the fridge and put them out into the garden immediately. Wouldn't want them to melt now, would we? - Oh! It seems someone's at the door. Don't worry, go on ahead, I'll keep an eye on our precious treasures!", her mother said with a wink to her.

Both of them already suspected that it was her wayward son coming home from a long day at school. Teenagers nowadays! Really, sometimes she reckoned it was easier to keep tabs on a flea circus than her son! Had he forgotten his keys, again? Why didn't he go in through his room's window, in that case? He'd done that once before, she could remember. And she'd hear her son shouting through the wooden front door already, she knew. So was it someone else, then? Who could it be?

She thought about this a little while going out into the hallway that connected the kitchen with the entryway. Five steps more and she'd already arrived at the door. The spy hole was nigh useless nowadays, what with the days getting dark sooner rather than later in the evening. It was five o'clock and yet the sun had already gone down and it was, for all intents and purposes, in the middle of the night already, if one went by what was visible outside.

The close-by street lamp still hadn't been repaired yet, too. Those, coupled with the fact that whoever rang the doorbell at five o'clock on a Saturday afternoon just before Christmas probably wouldn't mean any of the house inhabitants any harm gave her a calm that she wouldn't have felt right then, had she known just what was in store for her that fateful evening.

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Next she knew, she was on the first floor, hiding together with her mother in her son's room and praying that the older woman would find anything that might hold the attacker off. But looking back at her mother, that hope was dwindling, seeing as helplessness spread all over the older woman's being and body. She was no help, no help at all. However, if she'd let go of that door now, their attacker would surely seize the chance and – at most – fire wildly into the room; at least, her opponent would enter the room, making it all that more difficult to escape any bullets.

She hadn't counted on her son making an appearance, though, nor had she counted on the circumstances being so much against her. As it was, Kaito had decided to climb into his room this day, having her body go into shock for one crucial millisecond. As it turned out, that was all that was needed for their attacker to take the opportunity presented and wrench the door open.

So it was with great shock and alarm that she was left staring up the gun that was pointed at her. Hearing it go off happened in slow motion. First, she'd seen the expression _kill-you-sorry-can't-be-helped_, then her attacker had changed it; that second expression was by far more alarming than the first one had been, though. Her brain registered its meaning, took it apart and made her open her mouth to - shout, scream, do what? - but by then the gun had already gone off and next she felt was pain.

Excruciating pain spread from her head towards the rest of her body. It was unbearable. At the same time, she felt the adrenaline numb her senses so much so that the pain she'd felt at first was extremely dulled. It could have happened to another person entirely, she'd have felt just the same amount of pain. Shock spread all over her body, making her extremities go stiff on her.

She couldn't move anything anymore. She couldn't do much more than sink to her knees; couldn't control her body any more. Her eyes were stuck in their position, her arms and legs felt heavy, like they'd turned into lead without her looking. The last thing she saw was her opponent pointing the gun towards her own head. With the bang that followed she let the welcoming, beckoning darkness embrace her.

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There was that certain sense of surrealism, danger and alarm that he'd felt at the sight that greeted him upon entering his room. He hadn't had a chance to see if there was anybody else in the house, other than the people that he'd already expected to be there. It had been a surprise to see them both standing and crouching in his room; his grandmother had been going through his things – whatever for? – and his mother was perched against the door. He hadn't expected them to be there, of all places. He'd thought they were engaged in the kitchen, busy cookie-baking and dough-whirling.

He hadn't known they'd gone to his room. He hadn't known that there had been another person chasing them up. The first room he'd entered, after all, had been his room. Then again, Kaito couldn't shake the feeling that God was playing a joke on him. This… this couldn't be his mother lying there, could it? And that person, over there, right in front of the door…? He'd seen her. He knew he'd seen her somewhere before.

It didn't matter.

That… that body. His mother.

Four shots had rung out in the house. Four shots that he hadn't even seen coming. For, when his mother had glimpsed him at the window and opened her eyes wide, those precious few moments had been all that had been needed for her attacker to open the door; his mother had fallen to the floor at first, but then she'd righted herself and crouched, once more, on the tips of her feet. Then the gun that had been pointed at her the entire time had gone off. It had been deafening.

Four times it had gone off.

Then everything went still. He glanced towards his grandmother, afraid that if he took his gaze off her form, his mother would disappear. He didn't want to. Kaito didn't want to. So he needed someone else to. To pretend to be in control. To pretend everything would be ok. To pretend…

Gulping, he directed his eyes once more towards his mother's prone form on the floor. It couldn't be…

This was his mother they were talking about! She couldn't have just been killed – right in front of his eyes, moreover! No... No. _No_.

"Call. Call the ambulance." His grandmother seemingly got herself back under control. Uncomprehendingly, he looked at her again; his gaze farther away than either of them could touch. "The – Ambulance. Now." Her words appeared to leave her mouth on their own accord. She looked almost unbelieving at what they said. "And the police." He didn't respond.

"Kaito!"

That one word, his name, spoken in a voice so like that of his mother was what shook him awake once more. He whipped out his mobile and dialled their neighbour's private number (_OnlytobeUsedinanEmergency!_). He was, after all, a police inspector. Kaito swore he'd never been as relieved as right then that a police officer had picked up his phone call.

"If this is about you breaking into the girls' bathroom at school, I swear you'll-"

"My mum!" Forcefully he'd cut the inspector off. His self-proclaimed uncle had the tendency to go off on a roll before letting anybody else insert their comments. Yet, having said those two words, he didn't know exactly how to go on. So he stuck to something that was known to him. Take a deep breath and calm down. Then tell the person on the other end of the line just what happened. Or, well, what the situation is like now would help a great deal, too.

"She's – dead." The word left a bitter taste on his tongue. "It was a clean head-shot, along with another one to her head and one to her chest. Four gunshots in total." The other end of the line was quiet for a moment, then

"Back up. Where are you, what happened and who's injured?"

His breathing was the only thing being transmitted until he'd composed himself, once more. His grandmother in the meanwhile was kneeling down at his mother's side, staring at her unbelievingly.

"I'm at home. We're at home. My grandmother and I, that is. My mum," a lump lodged in his throat made it hard for him to speak for a few more moments, "she's dead."

"An attacker came into the house, apparently. They…" he trailed off, looking at his grandmother, to see if she was in any condition to answer the phone call herself. Taking in her haggard appearance he deemed that she wasn't, not at that moment, at least. "fought." He couldn't see his mother go down without any kind of fight. The evidence for that could probably be found in the kitchen. "It seems the attacker chased them up to my room. There, she killed mum, before killing herself."

The other end of the line was still, again. So much so, that he almost suspected the line of having been cut prematurely. Nevertheless, it hadn't been and the inspector's voice came through once more soon enough.

"Look. I'm in the area already. Be there in five." With that, the older man cut the line.

He'd gone up and down in front of his bed all the while that he'd stayed on the phone. Now that the line was dead, he didn't know what to do with himself any more. Oh, he knew the procedure following a murder. How could he not, having trailed after Hakuba many times more than his classmate knew of? It was just… this was no ordinary murder, was it? Not, when it concerned him and his family.

Chancing another look at his grandmother's drawn face, he conceded that, well, not when it concerned a certain half of the family, at least. His grandmother certainly never had been subjected to any of their concerns, had she? His grandfather had kept her in the dark about most anything that went on. Even now, his mother had kept up the appearance of them being a "normal family", not yet having the heart to break the illusion. Nevertheless, she'd at least told her son that she'd try to do it, lest it break her own heart. She simply hadn't managed to do so, yet.

His grandmother was as normal as they came, fortunately for her. Their relationship was… complicated, to say the least.

And then there was that woman that attacked them. What would become of her? He ambled closer, slowly. Curious. He realized that he _did_ know her. Wasn't she…?

The front door opening violently ripped him out of his musings. For one eternal moment he had the vision of them being under attack, _again_. Then the inspectors voice bellowed out, shouting something indiscernible.

"We're here – upstairs!" His own voice came out louder than he'd wanted it to at first. His grandmother had flinched at the sudden loudness, he'd noticed out of the corner of his eye. Yet he knew that he wouldn't be able to speak much more for some time to come. Shock, and the ends of grief pulled his shoulders down along with his eyes. They pivoted back towards his mother's body. He went to stand by his grandmother, kneeling down, as well. At his mother's side, he lay a hand on her body. The way that she lay there was unnatural. Her knees bent, she lay on her backside, with her feet underneath her. His hand rested on her left shoulder. Her eyes were staring up at the ceiling, unseeing, blank. Kaito didn't think he'd ever seen anything this scary before.

When the inspector came up and the bodies were tended to, his grandmother and he were accompanied downstairs. On the way, he more felt than saw the blond detective pass him by in a hurry. In front of his house, Aoko was already waiting for him. And that was when he noticed all the police cars with the blue lights flickering this and that way. Even more were arriving at the scene, sirens blazing.

Funny, he hadn't heard any sirens at all until then.

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_Goosebumps threatened to make their way crawling up his back._

_Strange._

_It was – off._

_Suddenly, his world tipped sideways, leaving the teenage-detective severely disoriented and confused._

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"_You might want to add different cookies the next time. They get stolen every so often, after all." He _

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The truth hurt sometimes, the detective thought to himself idly after their chat.

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"_You've made quite the impression, haven't you?" _

_With a smirk, he said, "In for a penny, in for a pound. I made my decision."_

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Sometime in the future, he vowed to himself, he wouldn't be shocked by any of the things that the thief pulled any more.

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_**Thank you very much for reading!**_


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